


Eye to Hand

by Toshua



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Baseball, Gen, firearms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-19
Updated: 2013-03-19
Packaged: 2017-12-05 20:53:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/727817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Toshua/pseuds/Toshua
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ever think about what is needed to accurately hit a moving target?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eye to Hand

**Author's Note:**

> This is a snippet that came about one day shooting at a tin can.

“I still don’t understand why we’re here. I’ve been practicing at the range for the last two weeks. I’m holding my own with the class.”

Jim dumped a bag of baseballs at Sandburg’s feet. He picked up a ball and tossed it gently up and down. “Because you can do better. I know you can do better. The reason you’re not scoring high on paper targets is that a paper target represents a body. I’ve seen you hit perps with baseballs, with pipe wrenches, with vending machines. Contrary to popular belief, you’re not a passive academic. If something needs doing, you use whatever is at hand to do it.” He took Sandburg’s hand and slapped the ball into his palm. Then he picked up a catcher’s mitt and a face shield and walked away. “Eye and hand coordination is the same skill, gun, baseball, monkey wrench. Hitting a moving target with a baseball is the same skill you need with a bullet. This is a different way to learn. Maybe not so ... intimidating.” As he walked past a tree he nudged a tin can suspended from a limb. The tin can swung back and forth. Jim continued a few steps further and turned around, donning the catcher’s mask and mitt. He hunkered down and yelled.

“Give it your best shot. Hit the CAN, not me. If it goes wild, we’ll let it go. When you run out of balls, or your arm is dead, we’ll stop.”

Sandburg looked around, seeing their surroundings, but not seeing them as he shook his head at Jim’s action. The night before the detective had arrived at the loft, took one look at Sandburg’s dejected figure leaning over the balcony railing and picked up the phone. Thirty minutes later they were on their way to a cabin in the Cascade National Park. Jim refused to explain, refused to discuss it.

Now he looked at the forest surrounding the cabin, the truck tucked next to a shed containing firewood, and the tiny log cabin. He looked back at Jim kneeling in the leaves and the tin can swaying back and forth about chest high. He tossed the ball in his hand a few times while his eyes followed the can.

“You asked for it, Jim.” He hurled the ball, not trying to put any speed on it, just trying to throw it straight. It sailed by the can and Jim caught it in the mitt. He dropped the ball at his feet.

“Again.”

Blair growled, then scooped up another ball. He followed the can with his eyes and flung another one. The ball sailed by the can, but closer. Jim caught it, dropped it and nodded again.  
Four more balls sailed by the can before the fifth one hit it with a resounding ‘thunk’.

“Way to go, Chief. Do it again.”

‘THUNK.’

“One more.”

Blair rotated his aching arm. “Need an incentive here, partner.”

Jim straightened, arching his back to stretch. He reached over and pushed the can, making it swing faster.  
“I’ll cook for a week.”

“Try harder.” Blair bounced the baseball in his hand, then wiped his forehead with the back of his arm. The sweat soaked curls were pressed against his head and frizzy around his neck. Too short to tie back, they stayed either gelled or moussed while he was at the Academy. Freed of oily controls, the short hair flew in wild curls in the slightest breeze.

“Hmmm.” Jim pushed up his face plate and made a show of stroking his chin, then punched his mitt. “Cook for a week and I won’t gripe about the condition of the bathroom after you shower.”

“For a month,” Blair added.

Jim sighed. “For a month.” He knelt down again and motioned he was ready.

‘THUNK’ Blair grinned as the can spun on the string.

Jim started picking up the balls at his feet and tossing them gently back to Sandburg.

“Time for a break. Don’t want to injure your arm and my knees are killing me.”

Sandburg caught the last ball and dropped it into the bag. “What made you think of this?” he asked as Jim dropped the mitt and mask on top of the balls.

“One of best snipers I ever worked with in the Rangers pitched on the base baseball team. He kept saying regardless of what you’re doing and the weapon you use, it’s still eye-hand coordination. We’d go out on maneuvers and he’d have a half dozen balls with him, baseballs, golf balls, tennis, whatever. While we were in camp he’d set up bottles, cans, anything he could find, and throw until dark. Pretty soon we were all doing it. All of our marksman scores went up. Then he started tying the cans up and making them swing, making it harder.”

“Pretty cool idea.” Blair looked at the can, now still. The distance was further then the small arms range. Another challenge to overcome. But he’d managed it.

Jim draped an arm across Blair’s shoulders. “After lunch we’ll do some more, but this time with golf balls. You hit the can ten times, we’ll switch to your gun.”

Blair glared a little and Jim shrugged. “We only have the weekend. I want you to get comfortable with shooting at a moving target, with both hands and both eyes open.”

Blair nodded as they climbed the two wooden stairs onto the small deck. The interior of the cabin was one large room, rough wood columns pretending to be walls gave a sense of separate areas. A large circular rock fireplace was in the middle of the room, a overstuffed couch and a double air mattress with a pile of blankets on one side and a small kitchen with a square table, two chairs, and the bathroom on the other side. 

Jim pulled a cooler with a box of supplies out of the corner. He started handing sandwich stuff to Sandburg. Together they put together sandwiches, chips and drinks from the box of supplies and the large cooler. Blair straddled his chair and munched on the roll filled with meat and cheese.

Jim leaned back and opened his bag of chips while he watched his partner eat. With their schedules a shared meal was a luxury for the moment. Blair would graduate in two more weeks and things should get back to almost normal.

“How did you manage to get the weekend off? Simon said Major Crime was really short-handed with Megan in court for the next week.”

Jim shrugged and took a long drink from his bottled water. “We are. But you needed this. When I came home last night, you looked like the world was crashing in on you. I knew that you had spent extra time at the range.” He held up his hand at Blair’s instant response. “I always know when you’ve been to the range, with or without you telling me. And no, the range master doesn’t call me.” He pulled his sandwich into smaller pieces, eyes watching his hands. “I know what carrying that firearm represents. And I know you know I know.” He grunted a laugh at that statement. “Now I’m sounding like you.” He took a bite of cheese and met Blair’s eyes as he chewed. “I wish I could promise you that you’ll never have to pull it, that you’ll never have to fire it. But you know that I can’t. If you worked in any other division, in other city, you probably could. But not working with me.”

“Jim…”

“No, you need to hear this. I need to say this.” He looked down at the crumbs his sandwich had turned into. “You’ve given up so much to be my partner, I don’t want you to feel like you have to embrace carrying a firearm. It’s just a tool, like a baseball or a vending machine or a monkey wrench. You’ll decide when to use it. Not me. Not Simon. I’m sure it’ll be the last thing you’ll think of in a situation, and I’m just as sure that you will use it as a last resort.”

“But if I need it …” the statement dragged into silence.

“You have to be comfortable with it. It may be the last resort to defend yourself or me, but it has to be a viable last resort. If you’re to the point where you’re pulling your weapon I know you’ve exhausted all the other possibilities.”

“I hear you, Jim.” Blair said softly. “I know what you’re thinking, and I appreciate it.” He shook his head slightly. “I just know how easy it is for a situation to escalate once somebody has pulled a firearm. So many crimes these days, a gun is the first choice, not the last. Drive by shootings, car jacking, hell, even kids. Teens get into an argument with each other and the next thing you know, one has pulled a gun and a kid is dead. I never wanted to be part of that, Jim, never. And suddenly, here I am, possibility the last line of defense."

“At least you and I both know that having a gun available to you will never go to your head. Some cops, right out of the Academy, think they’re God and that piece of metal makes them an instant judge and jury. They can be more dangerous than the bad guy.”

The rest of the meal passed in comfortable silence. They cleaned up the mess then wandered back outside into the afternoon light.

-End- Toshua 2013


End file.
